


Gifts

by Shadowy_Dumbo_Octopus



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Insanity, Necromancy, Possessive Behavior, Post SoA pre ToB, Shadows - Freeform, Stealing, Surprisingly Loving Relationships, Two Chaotic Evils Having A Good Ol' Time, Xzar being his usual delightful self, skulls - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 21:06:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16584191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowy_Dumbo_Octopus/pseuds/Shadowy_Dumbo_Octopus
Summary: Previously titled "Smile", a two-parter about some lovely things Neira and Xzar do for each other to make the other happy.Same 'verse as "My Destroyer" so you might want to read that first to understand better the glorious burning trainwreck that is their relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

Athkatla was an interesting city, Xzar mused as they made their way through the Promenade. Shame about the people, though; far too loud and far too many. A fireball or two could do the trick, though Monty _did_ inform him that the use of magic was strictly monitored in the city, so unless he wanted to play a damsel in distress again, he'd do better keeping his hands and magic to himself.

“Pity about that,” Neira hummed, absentmindedly pocketing a trinket off a stall they passed. “Korgan says that the Cowled Fuckers can be bribed, though. Three thousand gold if I recall correctly.”

“Five,” the dwarf corrected her. He was shorter than Kagain, Xzar noticed, and much more unkempt. His beard, for example, was braided rather poorly and in evident haste, as if its owner had better things to do and would much rather be doing them than braiding. So many skulls to crack, so little time.

They were on the way to the Adventure Mart to sell their latest loot - namely, Firkraag’s sword and some of the treasure looted from his domain.

Ribald was, as always, delighted to see them, though whether it was his merchant's façade or genuine joy at yet more magical nonsense for him to buy off them, Xzar wasn't sure - he wasn't much of a people person. Hells, sometimes he was barely a person in the first place!

"Destruction is a force, not a physical being," he muttered, drawing a few odd looks from other patrons. 

After leaving approximately half of the stuff in Ribald’s capable and ever grateful hands, they finally left the noisy Promenade in favour of the Docks. Xzar fully supported the idea; being close to the sea always calmed his mind - all the drowned souls singing their songs, their salt-scoured voices harmonising with the whisper of the waves into a soothing, hypnotic melody.

He wasn't able to hear the sea from his cell in Spellhold, wasn't able to hear anything over the screams and ceaseless muttering of his inmates and Irenicus and _where are you Blackbird where are you come and save me take me away I don't want to be here anymore wrap your wings around me until your darkness drowns out the pain please come and save me I can't do this anymore please please please please pl-_

“Xzar?”

That voice. That wonderful voice. His ambrosia. His saviour. His Blackbird. Always ready to pull him away from the edge, snuff out the light that blinded his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

He suddenly realised that he was trembling.

“I'm fine,” he replied, snapping back to reality. “Yes, quite fine now.”

She smiled, just a little, just a twitch of the right corner of her mouth - not far from where the scar from Sarevok’s sword was - but it was like a benediction. Was it part of her divine heritage or was her grip on his heart just that strong? Perhaps both.

They stopped in front of the entrance to the Shadow Thieves’ guild, and Neira gestured for their remaining companions to enter, saying something about joining them later and about Montaron and Imoen better leaving some pockets unpicked for her.

"No promises, Blackbird!" Imoen giggled, waltzing through the door with Montaron quick behind her, fingers already itching to rob and/or stab someone.

Imoen seemed to be healing well, Xzar mused as he watched the door shut behind them. She had been affected more intensely by Irenicus and that sister of his - after all, they tore out her soul and left get quiet and grey, quite a disturbing sight if he had to be honest. They didn't see each other much during their time in Spellhold, so the transformation was as jarring for him as for everyone else. He was more than relieved to see her more or less back to her noisy, bright pink normal. 

Neira cleared her throat to catch his attention.  At last alone, she dropped her emotionless façade, eyebrows furrowing as she tilted her head at him.

 _Concern,_ he read, needing no colour-changing gems to gauge her mood. _Confusion._ She always tilted her head like that whenever something puzzled her.

“Are you sure that you're okay?” she asked, coffee-dark eyes watching him closely yet with no intention of prying too deep. She knew him as well as he knew her, his clever little bird, knew that attempting to force the information out of him would only result in him burying it even deeper, sometimes just to be petty. 

He nodded, noticing that a strand of hair fell over her eyes and itching to brush it back. However, he wasn't in a touching mood for the time being, and ignored it in favour of replying.

“Nothing but an unpleasant memory, long gone and buried six foot deep.”

She relaxed, blessing him with another ghost of a smile, before opening the door and letting him enter. Always watching his back, how courteous.

The black market was, fortunately, more sparsely populated than Ribald’s magnificent kingdom, so the damned rabbits at the back of his mind actually shut their chattering maws for the time being, allowing him to concentrate a bit.

Their party split up to browse the wares: Korgan made a beeline (or a _boar_ line, Xzar thought - he was much more akin to a beast than an insect) for the weapons table to drool over the shiny new axes even though he already had three. Viconia browsed for a while before wandering off to the potion/poison seller to restock their supplies, the bottles clinking quietly as she packed them into the bag. Imoen and Neira were cooing over jewellery (both mundane and magical) like a pair of magpies, and Montaron just busied himself picking every pocket his short hands could reach. Typical.

Xzar, meanwhile, took his time to peruse everything, strolling among the tables with one hand at his dagger, just in case. There wasn't much, really, though he spotted some new wares here and there, but nothing quite interesting or useful enough to capture his attention for more than five and a half seconds at most…

...until…

He stopped by the table at the far end of the room, one recently added to the market because he didn't remember it being there the last time they visited.

There wasn't much there: some crude weapons, a trinket or three, a set of surgical knives that looked like they belonged in a torture chamber, a helmet which claimed to provide the wearer with infravision, a set of strange-looking keys that seemed just a little too familiar…

A spark of recognition. A memory. A hallway with statues and mosaics. Traps. Only disarmed by the right key and gifting wands as a reward for solving the puzzle.

Items from Irenicus's dungeon.

The thief on the other side of the table leaned over to see what he was looking at.

“Aye, this junk,” she sneered. “Got it from that fecking wizard's hideout, so we did. Didn't bring it out 'til now to avoid suspicion.”

He nodded, eyes glued to the knives. More memories bubbled underneath his skin, threatening to burst out in a shower of ichor and agony. Was that dried up blood on the blade of the small one? He wondered if it belonged to him or anyone he knew. (Not Neira, though - her blood turned to ashes soon after leaving her veins. Five to six hours according to his estimation. _Handy when it comes to armour maintenance,_ she told him once.)

No more memories, he sternly told the giggling rabbits in his skull. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong skull. Get out. Find another one.

And they did.

Multiple ones, in fact.

A black silken bag, resting innocently between two quivers of goblin arrows. It was open, exposing a myriad of skulls and bones from various sources, some more questionable than others.

Xzar recognised it instantly, and not only because he could glimpse the badger skull he had traded for three squirrel livers and a pair of cat eyes (heterochromic, one green and one blue) sometime in their previous life, simpler and devoid of scars.

“How much?” he asked, pointing at possibly the most precious thing in the entire building. Did the woman even realise the true value of her wares?

It seemed that she didn't, fortunately, but the price she gave him was still just a tad too steep for his liking.

“No, no,” he cooed, weaving a magical charm into his voice. “How much for me, your dear old friend?”

The woman's gaze fogged over and a sleepy smile snaked onto her lips.

“Ten gold pieces for ya, mate,” she informed him, and didn't even react when he placed the exact sum on the table, so he just took the coins back and left, trusting that she won't remember the exchange.

Excitement like bubbles rising in his soul, prompting a giggle to tear itself out of his mouth before he could contain it. _Perfect perfect perfect perfect what a wonderful day!!_

His Blackbird heard his approach long before she turned to gaze up at him with a special delight reserved only for him and new skulls, though he wagered that old ones would be greeted with the same enthusiasm.

“Hi,” she set down the ivory carving she was examining. It depicted a vulture ripping out the entrails of a king, a crown on its head, a ring in its beak, and blood on its talons. “Found something you like?”

He nodded excitedly, giddy like a child about to receive a treat, and beckoned her towards the exit.

“It's something you must see,” he whispered, looking around to ensure that their remaining companions were too busy to notice their brief departure. He wanted to have her all for himself, note down her reaction without any distractions, be in the center of all those emotions she worked so hard to hide.

It was already dark outside when they quietly shut the door and Neira turned to gaze at him expectantly, eyes glowing ever so slightly like those of a nocturnal animal - darkvision was one of the many perks of being a shadowdancer.

No longer able to contain his glee, Xzar thrust the bag into her hands with a high-pitched, delighted “Look what I got you!”

First, there was puzzlement, then a hesitant and just a little awkward “you really shouldn't have,” and then. Oh, and then the sweet, sweet realisation as she opened the bag and saw all the treasures she thought eternally gone, yet another piece of her stolen by Irenicus. 

A gasp, a slight quiver in her voice. “Are… are those…” she looked up at him in search of confirmation. “Are those my… is this my old collection?”

He nodded, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet and grinning so hard that his face threatened to split open. “I'm a necromancer, my dear,” he told her, voice brimming with pride. “I have a knack for finding bones.”

Was it his imagination, a trick of the moonlight, or were those tears glittering in her eyes? She pressed the bag to her chest, looking at him like he was the entire world to her.

And then…

And then she smiled. Fully. The corners of her lips rising so high that they made her eyes squint, revealing an orderly set of pearly white, pointy teeth.

“Thank you,” she choked out, voice barely audible as it struggled to fight its way through all the emotions stuffed in her throat. “Thank you so much.”

Xzar fell in love all over again.

“Anything for you,” he replied, meaning it more than he ever meant anything in his life. “You can hug me if you want.”

She did, laughing into his chest, her whole body shaking with giggles as he hugged her back and buried his face in her ~~feathers~~ hair, inhaling the faint smell of blood that clung to it no matter how many times she washed it.

Her collection was precious to her - almost as precious as he was, she told him one time. It took years to accumulate in the bag of holding stolen from a merchant who came to visit Candlekeep one winter, and Xzar was reasonably certain that about forty five percent of her motivation behind pursuing Irenicus was him taking it away from her.

(The other fifty five was revenge, of course. Not many people crossed Blackbird and lived to tell the tale - the running total was zero, in fact.)

Irenicus was dead, though, and although she had a new collection (smaller but no less impressive), Neira didn't seem to complain about the retrieval of her first one.

“You're magnificent, my Destroyer,” she told him, pulling away. The starlight gave her an otherworldly, haunting appearance - like a ghost clothed in leathers and feathers, all white and black and with a knack for leaving him lovestruck no matter the weather or whether she had the right to bewitch and excite, but he loved her so much so, really, whatever. “Truly magnificent.”

“For you, I'd take down the stars,” he replied dreamily, “break through any bars, walk the furthest mile, and more for just a smile.” He then caught himself, and cleared his throat. “I mean, you are most welcome.”

She laughed, that damned smile of hers stealing his breath away as easily as she stole from everyone else - beggars to matrons. How could he hope to resist her?

More importantly, why would he want to?

“Can I kiss you?” she asked, holding an entire universe in her eyes.

He hesitated, thinking, and shook his head.

“Too much contact for now,” he said apologetically, moving a step away when she respectfully allowed him to slip out of her embrace. “I can do hand holding, though.”

“Sounds good to me," she replied, slipping her hand (clawless, just for him) into his.

Despite her insatiable greed, she only took what he gave her and never asked for more unless she was certain that he would give it to her. He wanted to give her the world someday and watch as she tore it apart, oceans of blood flowing between her claws.

Someday, that was what he would do, but that day was yet to come. For now, they went to rejoin their friends, cooing over the skulls from Neira's old collection and comparing them to the ones in her new one.

Imoen was delighted, Montaron mildly disturbed, Viconia bemused, Korgan confused, and Neira and Xzar?

They were smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Neira got sharp teeth after the Slayer was awoken within her.


	2. Chapter 2

Xzar wasn’t alright, that much was obvious even to Neira, whose in-game wisdom score was a nice, solid eight. Her wonderful, perfect Destroyer has been awfully quiet ever since they broke him and Imoen out of Spellhold. Of course, neither of them spoke much of what happened there, but even she was perceptive enough to tell that their stay at the asylum was far from a pleasant one.

Irenicus was lucky that he was dead because she had the urge to kill him all over again, tendrils of shadow whipping around at her feet; fury given form. How wonderful it was to behold them tear his flesh apart like lashes of a whip, how delicious to hear the voice she so despised scream and beg her for mercy. How glorious it was to watch Xzar, her Xzar reach into his open chest cavity, hands burning with necromantic energy, and make his ribs unfurl like a pair of wings with the sweet, sickening sound of tearing flesh.

Xzar was alright back then, even if for a brief moment. He wasn’t now.

Now, he stared quietly at their humble campfire, green eyes dull and unseeing, staring into a nightmare she couldn’t tear apart, couldn’t protect him from. Nobody else seemed to notice, Korgan too busy cleaning his axe, Viconia studying her spells, and Imoen and Montaron bickering over their pile of loot.

Well, Neira sighed, at least Im was holding up. She had her good and bad days, though fortunately the former were growing more common as of late. She even re-dyed her hair pink and cut it to its former length.

As she continued to bicker over a particularly shiny trinket, Imoen’s shadow rose up from the ground and gently brushed a few strands of hair away from her face, its touch as gentle as Neira wished hers would be, while Montaron’s was eyeing the trinket like a cat eyes a wounded mouse. She wondered why neither of them noticed anything. Could it be possible that only she could see the shadows for what they really were, complex and powerful beings with minds of their own, her unseen yet loyal subjects keeping her company at every step, celebrating every life she took, every step she was closer to the power she was destined to wield? Indeed, sometimes it really did feel like she was the only one who saw them.

Nevermind. She brushed those thoughts away like she always did, making a mental note to speak with her sister about it, and forgetting about it almost immediately. (Why do you think she keeps a journal?) For now, she had something – some _one_ – a lot more important on her mind.

“Hey,” she stopped a couple of feet away from him, shadows hissing at the campfire as if it offended them.

Xzar startled, shooting up straight, eyes blinking the fog away until they could see her clearly, free of any malignant memories.

“Ah,” he relaxed immediately when he saw her, lips curving into a wide (yet strained, she couldn’t help but notice) smile, “hello there, my Blackbird. Do step away from the campfire; light is far from pleasant for your kind.”

Instead of doing so, she sat down, cross-legged.

“I’m good,” she replied, shrugging. True, things like sunlight were slightly more bothersome since the Slayer awoke something within her, but those pains were nothing in the face of the one in front of her. “You seem quiet.”

He looked away, long fingers nervously toying with the hem of his robe. He didn’t reply.

She sighed. “Look, I won’t pry, but as your leader, friend, and…” she paused. What exactly _were_ they? Lovers? Ever since that kiss in Spellhold, her heart has been all over the place, prompting her to fantasise about carving it out and putting it back in once it finally chilled the fuck down. “… and whatever, I can hardly stand idly when I see you suffering, my Destroyer.” Though she could burn down cities, slaughter soldier and child alike, she would rather die than see her dear ones in pain, especially this particular one. “Please tell me what’s plaguing you.”

He seemed to ponder the matter for a moment, pausing his nervous fidgeting to commence his thoughtful fidgeting (a different type entirely.) There was a familiar spark in his eyes that made them look just a touch greener than they really were, like the light that glowed around his hands as he animated a cadaver, binding it to his will.

Still, it was a spark. His usual eyes were aflame.

“Come sit by me if you wish,” he said eventually, patting the space beside him.

Neira did so, her shadow wrapping around his as she did so, cradling it close, protectively, possessively.

_You’re mine,_ it hissed. _Mine. Nobody can have you. Nobody can touch you. Nobody can harm you. I won’t allow it. I will destroy them if they lie but a finger on you. I will tear this world into pieces and we will dance on the remains._

“I’m a lousy dance partner,” he murmured.

“I don’t think it matters,” she replied, staring into the flames and imagining them devour the universe, sparks and stars swirling around them. “No, it doesn’t matter at all.”

He chuckled quietly, mirthlessly. How different it was from his usual laughter, wild and unhinged and beautiful.

“How are you with touching?” he asked all of a sudden. Since fleeing from Irenicus’s dungeon, Neira has developed an aversion to touching not dissimilar to his. This rarely influenced their time together as both were used to maintaining a comfortable distance, anyway, but on days like this one, where one sought comfort and the other wasn’t sure if they could provide it (or the other way around) it could really be a nuisance.

Neira shrugged. Eh, it varied, and rarely got bad enough to make her avoid his touch. “Not too bad. You?”

Instead of replying, he rested his head on her shoulder like it was a weight he could no longer bear on his own.

“They called me mad,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “They said I’m broken, dangerous, said they could fix me.”

A shudder ran down her spine. It didn’t take much imagination to visualise what exactly said “fixing” entailed, and the influence of Irenicus probably didn’t help either.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” she hissed, hands curling into fists. Around the campsite, shadows rose from their slumber, countless teeth bared in vicious snarls. “There is nothing to fix in you, Xzar, and I will hunt down and slaughter anyone who dares to claim otherwise.”

Xzar wasn’t mad. He wasn’t broken. He was hers. Her perfect, gorgeous Destroyer. How could anyone see him as anything other than what he was?

He sighed, closing his eyes, and reached between them to slip his hand – cold despite sitting near the fire – into hers.

“Would you burn Spellhold to the ground for me?” he asked in a lilting, almost childlike voice, like always when he was pondering something pleasant. “Sear the flesh and melt the stone, paint the water red and shatter every bone? You do look so wonderful when bathed in rage.” He giggled that delicious, wonderful laugh that would make the skin of a weaker being crawl with fear and revulsion.

Not Neira, though. She pressed a kiss to his temple, smiling when he purred like a delighted cat.

“I would,” she muttered into his hair. “For you, I would do anything.”

_Destroy anything,_ her shadow added.

They sat together for a long moment, oblivious to the world around them, even the campfire being put out and Imoen playfully waving a hand in front of her sister’s eyes despite knowing well that she didn’t see her.

The camp went dark and silent, save only for the sound of their companions’ breathing and the rustling hisses of the shadows pacing around them, watching over their sleep.

_Rest,_ one of them told Neira, rubbing against her side like an affectionate feline, all spines and sharp teeth.

She merely shook her head, dismissing it with the wave of her hand and a small smile on her lips. It mattered very little when she fell asleep; she would still drown in coffee in the morning regardless of how many hours of rest she had.

“We should rest,” Xzar agreed with it, readjusting his position so that his hair tickled her cheek. The bastards at Spellhold had cut it short, but fortunately, it was more or less the length it was before. “Who knows what glorious battles await us after sunrise?” His spells were already prepared, he just needed a target, living or otherwise.

“Mayhap, my Destroyer, mayhap,” she hummed, watching a tendril of shadow wrap itself around her arm. A thought immediately soured her mood. “What of nightmares, though? Mine have been getting worse as of late.” She doubted that the memories of things Irenicus did to her would ever fade from her memory; she hardly needed to be reminded of them in dreams, thank you very much.

He hummed, eyes lidded. Was it just her imagination, or were they glowing slightly in the darkness? She was almost tempted to take them out and examine them more closely. Almost.

“Viconia’s brew helps for the most part,” he said, meaning the recipe which their priestess had mysteriously acquired some time ago. It was a herbal tea that eased a person’s rest, and even though Neira was more of a coffee person, she had to admit that it worked.

Upon being asked about how she came across such a drink, Viconia said something about having a couple of secrets of her own, though Neira could’ve sworn that there used to be a herbalist shop near the Adventure Mart ran by a young halfling lady with curly blond hair and a fondness for silver jewellery. In fact, said jewellery very much resembled the necklace Vico wore around her neck. Hmm.

“For the most part,” Neira repeated, raising an eyebrow. Then, when he didn’t reply, she gently lifted his head off her shoulder and stood up. “Get some rest tonight because I have some big plans for tomorrow.”

She grinned, and he grinned back, as if sensing what she was thinking about. It was one of her favourite grins, devious and slightly unhinged. Now, this was the Xzar she knew and loved.

“I can hardly wait,” he purred, getting up to his feet in one swift movement. “Goodnight, my Blackbird.”

“Goodnight, my Destroyer.” She stood on her tiptoes to press a light kiss to his lips. “If you need me, you know where I am.”

“Naturally.”

~~~

Despite the praise Viconia’s tea earned from the whole party, even it couldn’t stifle all the terrible things they all experienced. That night, Neira was awoken by a pair of arms wrapping around her waist and a frightened voice whispering nonsense into the back of her neck.

Irenicus was damn lucky that he was dead, for what she had no chance to inflict on him, she planned to inflict on the rulers of Spellhold.

~~~

The next day, they returned to Athkatla. More specifically, to Neira’s guild, where everyone got some proper rest in proper beds.

That night, when Korgan was snoring in his bed, Viconia meditating in hers, Imoen studying her spells by her desk, and Montaron was busy robbing drunk sailors passed out in the gutter, Neira and Xzar snuck out of the district and, silent as shadows, made their way through the city.

“Where are we going?” Xzar was practically bouncing like one of the rabbits he so often spoke about, resembling more an excited child than an evil and powerful necromancer who was about to unleash chaos on the sleeping city.

Neira glanced at him, at his glowing green eyes, burning with a proper flame instead of some pitiful spark some fools dared to reduce it to. No, she was determined to keep that fire going no matter what, even if it meant doing what they were about to do. Especially if it meant what they were about to do.

“You’ll see,” she turned to him with an enigmatic smile, pressing a finger to her lips as they snuck by another guard, entering the Graveyard District, now clear of vampires, ghosts, and other unpleasant competition. “Did you memorise all the spells I told you to?”

He nodded quickly.

“Got the scroll case as well in case you run out of spell slots?”

Another nod.

“Perfect.”

It was exactly midnight, and the sky was dark and starless, choked by dark clouds so that even Selûne was nowhere to be seen. A perfect night for nefarious deeds.

They took a slow, leisurely stroll through the graveyard, maintaining a comfortable distance all the while (neither were in a touching mood) and talking in hushed voices about this and that. For example: did you know that there is an avariel in Athkatla? Oh, truly? Are their bones really as hollow as a bird’s? I don’t know, I never got to check. Would they need specially built lungs for higher altitudes? Or eyes? Oh, how I would love to get my hands on some avariel eyes! If so, I could lead you to her tomorrow; my treat. Truly, Blackbird, you spoil me.

Neira smiled in the depths of her hood. “You have no idea how much.”

They halted in the exact centre of the district, countless graves rising all around them, full of potential in varying stages of decay. There, Xzar unhooked the scroll case from his belt and opened it, venom green eyes widening in delight at the multiple scrolls of _“Create Undead”_ resting within. He was a smart man, he could connect the dots if they were presented to him (and even if they weren’t) so he turned to Neira with wide eyes and a wider grin enhanced by his tattoos, looking as mad and terrifying as some demon straight out of the Abyss.

Truly, Neira didn’t think he ever looked more handsome.

“They tried to break you, destroy who you are,” she told him, her smile mimicking his own, except full of sharper teeth. “Show them that they were wrong.”

~~~

Their friends were fast asleep in the Docks District on the other end of the city, on top of that in a building with good soundproofing to keep any secrets contained, so they didn’t hear the horrified screams that pierced the early morning air as an army of undead rose out of their graves to terrorise the living, their ghastly moans serving as a perfect accompaniment to all the screaming.

Still, neither was as loud as the delighted, evil cackle coming from the two people perched on a rooftop and watching the ensuing massacre over steaming cups of coffee.

“This,” Xzar blew some steam from his cup, giggling like the wonderful disaster he was, like he would always be no matter who tried to bring him down, “looks like it’s shaping up to be a lovely day.” Then his voice pitched up to become more childlike, and he leaned over to Neira, burning green eyes staring at her with endless adoration. “Tell us a story, Blackbird! Something with bears and gold!”

She took a careful sip of her coffee, dark eyes fluttering shut as she luxuriated in the warmth that spread all over her body, and also in the screaming.

“Anything for you, my Destroyer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, take the whole shadow business with a grain of salt because Neira is a mildly unhinged and VERY unreliable narrator - at least 60% of it is all in her head. Then again, a shadowdancer's aura combined with divine blood could give some interesting effects.


End file.
